No one Ever Really Dies
by whisperinthewindow
Summary: Dean's been behaving strangely for a few months but when he starts to deteriorate, his family are determined to find the cause and put an end to it.  Teenchesters.  Dean 17, Sam 13.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi all. I'm not from the US so please feel free to call me on any mistakes/spellings/phrases that don't make sense. This is my first piece of fanfic so please be gentle!**

**Unbeta'd, WIP**

**A/N: I don't own supernatural or any of its characters.**

**NOW:**

**He was pretty sure his father was crying.**

**It was getting harder to concentrate but the more he looked, the more sure he was that those were tears running down his fathers cheeks, and he wondered if the great John Winchester knew he was weeping openly in front of his son. It had been fourteen years since he'd last seen his father cry, tears shed for his wife and the life they had promised each other, however on this occasion he did not believe that his fathers tears were those of grief, and he would not mourn his son as he had mourned his wife.**

**His fathers hands gripped his shoulders tightly, holding him under the water, the pressure constant, no matter how he much he tried to twist and turn and jerk and claw, trying to pry his fathers hands free. The burning in his chest increased and he involuntarily took another gasp, another mouthful of water, another step closer to a private meeting with a reaper that was much too far ahead of schedule.**

**This was not how he wanted to go out, being drowned in a dirty motel bath, unable to fight off a man twenty years his senior. He always knew he would die young, a hunters life rarely correlating with old age, though he had pictured himself dying in the line of duty, going down in a blaze of glory, and hopefully taking some evil SOB with him. This was definitely not how he wanted things to end. He was broken, useless, an embarrassment that his father could not tolerate, as they were **_**oh so keen **_**to remind him. So pathetic that it fell to his father to find the courage that Dean did not have and to do what Dean would not do, and put him out of his miserable existence, **_**like way to put another weight on Dad's shoulders, Dean.**_

**He vaguely sensed that someone else had entered the room, but no one attempted to stop his father, and he prayed that it was not Sam. He hoped that his dad would be considerate enough to lie to Sam about his death, or at least tell him that Dean had put up a good fight, and had the warriors death he'd always envisioned. He could no longer kick his legs and his vision began to darken, and the finality began to dawn on him as his grip loosened on his fathers hands, and his dying thought was that he was glad that he was not alone at the end of all things.**

**THEN:**

**The last day of the school year always involved a modicum of chaos. Parents who suddenly found themselves accountable for the twenty-four hour entertainment of overactive children and underactive teenagers scrambled to arrange holidays, play-dates, ensure the kids were packed for camp, while the kids themselves tried to keep out of trouble for fear that one over-zealous teacher who did not remember being a child, would call their parents and they'd have another few days shaved off the holiday calendar. **

**Sam would never admit it as it would just confirm the geek-boy tag his brother had given him, but he usually didn't like this time of year. Firstly, he enjoyed school and studying. He liked that facts he didn't know or couldn't grasp last year were now second nature to him, and he felt a sense of accomplishment when he handed in an assignment. More importantly, it was the one thing he excelled at over his family. Dean would always be faster, stronger, and his father always had to be the best in, well, everything, but education and information was where Sam shone.**

**The second reason he disliked this time of year was that it reinforced just how sucky his own life was. While other kids went to camp, travelled the world, or just relaxed, the Winchesters spent the summer being dragged from town to town, chasing another lead of their dad's, and suffering through training regimes that would put Navy SEALS to shame. And after the past few months they'd already had, Sam was sure this summer was going to be particularly unpleasant.**

**His fears were confirmed when he walked into their apartment to find his brother still sprawled out on the couch in front of the television. They had been staying the Armview apartments for the past three months, and Dean had become a permanent fixture on that couch for the past two weeks. Dean had been injured in a hunt, a simple salt and burn where Dean had unfortunately had one of his "vacant episodes" as Sam had taken to calling them, and had failed to notice the spirit in front of him until it threw him head first into a gravestone. Their father had quickly taken care of the spirit, in which time Dean had sufficiently recovered his game face, so that their father could continue pretending that the only problem was Dean's current injury and not the odd behaviour that had caused it. **

**His face had been badly bruised, though nothing was broken, but their father had been forced to keep him from school, out of the way of nosy, but usually well-meaning teachers. Each morning and afternoon, Sam's last image of Dean was of him in this exact position - sprawled out on the couch, his feet resting on the small coffee table, staring with unfocused eyes at the television. The fact that he hadn't even looked up when Sam entered the room was a worrying sign.**

"**Dean?" Sam threw his school bag on the table and set about making himself a snack. "Hey, do you want a sandwich?" **

**He looked over at his brother who had still not looked up from the television. His lips were twitching slightly, with words that were not fully formed though he did not make a sound. **_**Looks like it's going to be one of those days**_**, Sam thought. He stood in front of his brother, keeping enough distance that he would hopefully be out of harms way should Dean wake from this episode confused and defensive, something he'd unfortunately had to learn the hard way. He switched off the television and clapped his hands near Dean's face, until his brother woke from his stupor, Dean's eyes fluttering briefly before resting on his brother.**

"**Hey, Sammy." He absentmindedly rubbed his brow and pulled himself up straighter on the couch. "Sorry, I must have dozed off. You been home long?"**

"**No. I just got in. It was the last day of term today and we all had to stay for some stupid assembly on changes to the curriculum next year. As if it matters, we'll probably be five states over by next term."**

"**Well Sammy, I for one am relishing the next school year - because after that, I'll be a free man. No more homework, no more detention."**

"**Dean, you never did your homework, and you liked getting detention. You said it made you look dangerous and that, and I quote, chicks dug it." Dean laughed, something that had been happening increasingly rarely the past few months.**

"**Yeah, chicks dig the bad boys, Sammy. Do you remember that one school when…" He trailed off, confusion etched on his face and began rubbing his brow again. **

"**Yeah?"**

"**Never mind. I'm just getting mixed up." **_**Again.**_

_**Sam headed back to the table and finished making his sandwich. Dean again refused his offer of a snack, muttering something about having already eaten which Sam knew was a blatant lie but decided not to call him on it today. **_

"_**Hey, Dean? Do you want to take a shower? Or at least shave? Dad said he'd be home tonight," Sam hinted. Last week when their father had come home to find Dean unshaven and having not showered for four days, he almost manhandled him into the shower himself. At least he was starting to notice there was a problem.**_

"_**Dean? Are you so damn useless now that you can't even wash yourself?"**_

"_**What'd you say?" He looked up at Sam sharply, but saw only concern in his eyes.**_

"_**I just asked if you wanted to go for a shower," Sam replied quietly. Dean's expression softened and he finally began to shift from the couch.**_

"_**Sure thing, Sammy. And maybe I'll take that sandwich after all."**_


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to everyone who has read or reviewed this! This chapter is a bit short and a bit slow, but hopefully the action will pick up in a bit!

Unbeta'd.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

As Dean climbed into the shower he turned on the shower radio he'd bought a few months back. Not too loud that he wouldn't hear if Sam needed him, but just loud enough that he could distract himself from everything else.

He was beginning to feel that maybe Sam thought he was going a little crazy. Sam was the typical annoying little brother, or as typical as a Winchester could be. But he was also more observant and sensitive than most other kids his age, and with the pitying look Sam had given him earlier, Dean was sure that Sam was realising that something was up with him. He could never tell them though. Sam, Dad, Bobby, they'd never understand.

He leaned over and turned the radio up a little bit louder as the demon chatter increased. He couldn't see them, but he knew they were there, talking constantly twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. They taunted him, belittled him, and once on a particularly bad day, made some snarky comments about his mother that had him screaming at them so loudly to _Shut the fuck up already_, that Sam had jumped out of bed and grabbed his knife, and Dean had had to lie and tell Sam that Sam's snoring had become a major problem. He didn't answer them again after that.

By the time their father arrived home, three hours later than he had planned but with a take-away as a half-apology (must be pay day), Dean was showered, shaven and had thankfully changed his clothes, looking almost picture perfect were it not for the yellow bruising on his face. As John quickly washed up, Sam set the table which really only consisted of pulling the plastic forks and napkins out of the bag since they were probably going to eat out of the cartons anyway.

Sam watched carefully as Dean poured the drinks - whiskey for their father and water for themselves - and his heart sank when he saw that Dean had begun spiking each of their drinks with holy water again. He had first noticed it a few weeks ago and when he'd asked Dean about it, he'd shrugged it off as a joke and as far as Sam knew he hadn't done it again. But Dean was in such good spirits this evening, almost like his old self, that Sam decided he'd ignore it at the minute and add it to the ever growing list of Things to Ask Dean About.

They ate in silence for a while, enjoying the surprisingly good take-away which made a change from Macaroni and cheese or leftover Macaroni and cheese. Dean picked at his food, and as guilty as it made him feel, Sam was glad to see an element of concern on his fathers face as he watched Dean eat, because hopefully he realised that there was a serious goddamn problem here.

Dean looked up to see both his father and brother staring at him and decided that evasive action must be taken.

"So, dad how was the hunt?" It worked like a charm as John launched into the long but entertaining story of how he tracked and killed a family of werewolves without receiving a single injury. He fudged some of the details slightly, for entertainment purposes only, but his kids didn't seem to care, and as he finished his tale, it suddenly dawned on him that it had been too long since they'd had a moment like this.

"How was school, Sam? Today was your last day, right?" Sam and Dean both raised their eyebrows, surprised that their father would have remembered.

"Yeah, today was the last day, thank God. Where are we headed next? Just please, give us a few days before -" A kick under the table from Dean shut Sam up before he very likely started an argument about training.

Their father leant back in his chair and took a long drink of his whiskey.

"Well I've been speaking to Bobby when I was away, and he's looking for a few extra pairs of hands on a hunt he has lined up." He saw the glimmer of hope in his boys eyes and decided that there was no going back now.

"So, I thought maybe we could spend the whole summer there, give you boys a bit of stability for a change and maybe save a bit of money." He stared knowingly at Sam, who responded with a small almost imperceptible nod of his head to let him know that he understood, and it felt good to finally have someone to share this responsibility with.

Sam would admit that he wasn't the easiest kid to live with. He had hit puberty hard, full-on mood swings and surly teenage attitude that often ended up with him being grounded or running extra laps. But teenage hormones aside, no-one could be expected to deal with a caffeinated Dean Winchester on a twelve hour road trip without becoming irritated.

They had packed up and headed to Bobby's the morning after their dad had suggested it, but now Sam was seriously considering ditching them and hitch-hiking himself. Despite the fact that Sam had called shotgun, _three times_, Dean pulled rank and jumped in beside their dad who simply shrugged and laughed, and everytime a song came on that Sam liked, Dean automatically turned it over. So Sam took his revenge slowly and had chilli at lunch knowing full well that it would cause a toxic problem right around dinner.

He supposed that he shouldn't complain. It had been one of Dean's best days in months, still there was something hollow about it. If it looks like a Dean, and talks like a Dean, and all that. But the smiles didn't reach his eyes and the laughter was just slightly too jovial and insincere.

It was well after ten at night when they reached Bobby's place, but like all other hunters, Bobby was a night owl and his house was always open to them at all hours of the day. It had been almost a year since the boys had last seen Bobby, though their dad had worked on a hunt with him almost six months ago, but Dean was still basically Dean back then and Sam wondered if their dad had warned him that Dean was….well he wasn't sure of how exactly to describe him, but he wasn't the same as when Bobby saw him last.

As they pulled into Bobby's lot, Dean eyed the house warily, his cheerful disposition replaced by a growing depression.

"Dean? You ok? " Their father asked as they climbed out of the car.

"I'm fine." _You're lying. "It was just a long drive."_

_Bobby came out onto the porch to welcome them, one of his many dogs following behind. Sam immediately ran up to the them, and hugged Bobby._

"_Damn, boy but you're getting tall. You're gonna out grow both your brother and you daddy."_

_He tried to figure out just how much Bobby knew about Dean, when he was suddenly pushed out of the way, landing with a hard thump on the ground. When he looked up to find his brother holding a knife to Bobby's neck, he decided that maybe he'd let Dean take the lead on this one._


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry about the long wait for this chapter. Unfortunately there'll be a bit of a wait for the next chapter cos I'm working pretty full on for the next few weeks.

Thanks to anyone who has read or reviewed this story. For the few that are still reading this (lol) everyones a little OOC and if there's little mention of Sam it's cos John isn't the worlds best parent and can only focus on one thing at a time. The pace should pick up in the next chapter.

Unbeta'd.

I do no own supernatural or its characters.

John was almost in awe of how fast his boy had moved - one second he was at the car, the next he was on Bobby's porch. He hadn't seen Dean move that quickly in so long that he would have been proud of him, were in not for the knife he held to his friends neck.

Dean held Bobby flush against the wall, one hand grabbing a fistful of Bobby's shirt and the other holding a knife against his jugular. The elder hunter had tried not to resist and now stood against the wall with his hands up, though it was obvious that he was fighting his natural instincts to take Dean down. _Thank the lord it's Bobby_, John thought.

Sam was still sitting where he had fallen. He looked at John with frightened, pleading eyes, begging his father not to let Dean step over a line to a place where he could not get back from.

As John reached for his gun, Dean released his grip on Bobby's shirt and took a small step back.

"I'm sorry I had to do it like this Bobby, but I had to show you's that I still got it. I never would have hurt you though," he said quietly. He resheathed his knife and handed it to Bobby who was gently rubbing at his neck.

"No matter what they say, I've still got it. That's why we're here, right Dad? You think I can't hack it anymore so you're gonna dump me with Bobby here, and you and Sam are gonna head on without me, am I right?"

He turned to Bobby, refusing to let John answer since nothing but lies poured from his fathers lips. "Bobby, I know you'll probably never forgive me or trust me again, but I really am sorry."

Bobby gripped Dean firmly by the shoulder. Sadness and disappointment rolled off Dean in waves and Bobby found he could not bring himself to be angry at him.

"I'll let it slide this once. But you try anything like that again, and it won't go by that easy. You hear me?" Dean kept his head hung low and nodded. "And I'm keeping the knife. Why don't you head on up to bed now and cool off? I've kept your rooms as they were."

Bobby turned to John, expecting an argument on how Dean needed to be punished, but instead saw only defeat and anxiety, and he wondered what the hell John had gotten his boys into now.

It had taken a lot of effort to persuade Sam that Dean would be fine sleeping in his own room and that they all needed time alone, eventually settling him with the promise that both John and Bobby would be up most of the night discussing the new case, and they'd keep an ear out for any trouble. Sam had finally relented and trudged unhappily up the stairs, and John knew full well that his thirteen year old had little intention of sleeping.

Bobby poured a shot of whiskey for himself and John, who quickly drank his shot and poured himself another glass.

"I knew something was up when you called asking if you and your boys could put up base here for the summer," Bobby said. "But I think you might have left some important details out."

"I told you on the phone that Dean -"

"You told me that Dean wasn't doing so well and that you needed to settle for a few months to figure things out." Bobby tried not to shout, but anger laced his voice. "But I think you failed to mention just how bad things are."

They sat in silence and John kept his head bowed, avoiding eye contact, and Bobby couldn't help but notice how he looked the exact picture of his son just a few hours earlier.

"I don't know what to do for him, Bobby. Goddamn, I don't even know what the problem is." He ran a hand across his brow and for a second Bobby thought John was going to cry, before he cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair.

"When did it all start?"

"God, bobby I don't know. There was nothing specific, he didn't just wake up one day acting like he belonged in a craz-" John let it hang, afraid to finish the sentence and how much of a reality it could be. "I guess things have just been kind of slipping since Christmas, but now everything just seems to be spiralling."

The elder Winchester had never been one to share or open up, but between the alcohol and the goddamn stress of the recent months, he found that he couldn't stop.

"Looking back now, it's easy to see all the little things. How his grades started slipping, he kept getting in more trouble at school. He stopped enjoying things - Girls, hunting, food. Most days he just seems to be going through the motions."

"He sure as hell seemed to be full of life last night," Bobby grunted, as he unconsciously rubbed at his neck, though Dean hadn't even broke the skin. "So what do you think it is? "

"Honestly? At first I though it was drugs." Bobby's face wrinkled in confusion.

"I caught him smoking marijuana last year," John explained. "I tore him a new one and he swore he'd never touch the stuff again, that it was a one-off. And when all this started, I tore the motel room inside out looking for it, but he swore he wasn't taking anything. Hell, he was even ready to be strip-searched to prove it."

Bobby found the image of Dean as a stoner vaguely amusing and wondered if John had suddenly forgotten that he himself had grown up in the sixties.

"I never found anything though. And then.." And then John had wished that he had found drugs or alcohol or anything really, and had actually hoped that his son was some kind of addict, because then at least he could have done something, _could have been in control_.

A quizzical eye from Bobby prompted him to continue.

"A couple months ago things started getting worse. He…I think he's hearing things, voices." John realised this was the first time he'd actually spoken to another person about this, and he felt a deep seated pressure in his chest as the gravity of it all dawned on him.

"He's never said as much, but you can see it sometimes, you know, where he's listening in to a conversation that no-one else can hear, and then muttering to himself. Sometimes he thinks it was me or Sammy talking to him." John's eyes were now at half mast, and glazed over, having drank almost the entire bottle of whiskey.

"He gets confused too. Talking about things that never happened, people I've never heard of. One day he asked me…..he asked me why his mother had ran off with another man? He asked if it was him - that he hadn't been a good enough son to keep her around. Damn near destroyed me that day."

He pressed his hand to his eyes and Bobby could see him fighting to hold back the sobs.

"So you think this might be - psychological," Bobby said, choosing his words carefully.

John regained his composure, _I'll be damned if I cry in front of Bobby Singer, alcohol induced or not_, and decided he should lay off the whiskey.

"Mary had an uncle with, um, a mental illness. He killed two guys in a bar, said he had to do it because they were gonna turn into monsters. Mary didn't like to talk about it, but after I hounded her she told me that he might have schizophrenia, and that's why he'd done it. He pleaded not-guilty by reasons of insanity in the end."

"So maybe this is like a genetic thing? Have you taken him to see a doctor or a psychiatrist? Cos to be honest, that type of stuff is way out of my league."

"I guess I was hoping it would all just settle down, thought maybe it was just a phase he was going through. Doesn't look like that's gonna happen, huh." He let out a soft snort, an alcoholic melancholy now in full swing.

"Dr Spinter in town could probably recommend someone. There's no facilities here, but there's a big unit a couple of towns over." John nodded in thanks, and after realising that dawn was breaking they decided to call it quits for the night.

"John, you and your boys can stay here as along as you like." _As long as it takes. "It's not like I've got any one else willing to put up with my cantankerous ass."_

_Bobby closed his bedroom door and placed Dean's knife in his safe. That boy really did not need to be armed at the minute. Those Winchesters were the closest thing he had to family, and he'd easily put his life on the line for any one of them. But he had an uneasy feeling that somewhere along the way, they'd already lost Dean, and after looking into the kids lifeless eyes last night, he wasn't sure they'd be able to save him this time. _


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the wait for this chapter! Thanks again to anyone who had read/reviewed it.

Unbeta'd

A/N: I don't own supernatural or any of its characters.

He was dreaming of Mary. Nothing exciting or life altering, in fact there was little detail to it at all. But he dreamt of her voice, and her warmth. He could feel her heart beat as she held him close and could smell that new shampoo that she'd began using just before she died, the one that smelled like vanilla and drove him mad because every time she used it it made Dean ask for ice cream. She whispered in his ear, but he didn't hear the words, instead he focused on the gentleness of her voice, the soothing tone that could help lull Sam and Dean back to sleep in the dead of night. It was peaceful and quiet, and most importantly free of the monsters that now terrorized their lives. 

"_Dad?"_

_A young voice dragged him reluctantly back to reality. His mind was fuzzy, and while he didn't remember drinking, the dryness of his mouth and the headache blazing behind his eyes told him otherwise. He could remember talking with Bobby, telling him about Dean, and maybe getting a little emotional, and oh God, now he could remember the alcohol, and he prayed that Bobby had drank as much as he had because otherwise he could never look him in the eye again._

"_Dean. What time is it? You ok?" Dean stood in the doorway of John's room, freshly showered and shaved, and appeared to have been up for hours. Not surprising since his sleeping pattern had been erratic since this all started and there had rarely been a day when Dean wasn't first up. But today he seemed different. His eyes were brighter, and he held himself with an energy that John hadn't seen in a while. Maybe Bobby's place was doing him good. _

"_It's just gone ten a.m. Bobby said we should probably wake you if you wanna get started with research." He'd forgotten that he had offered to help Bobby out on a hunt, but it wasn't the first time he'd been hungover at work and wouldn't be the last._

"_Dad….I, um…." Dean considered his father for a moment. His eyes were bloodshot and there were dark circles beneath his eyes making him seem older than he was. True, his dad was never a morning person, but now he just seemed to be bone-deep tired._

_It's your fault, you know. You're putting them through hell._

Dean cleared his throat and tried to maintain eye contact with his dad. 

_You gotta keep up appearances or they're gonna throw you in the crazy house._

He usually ignored the voices, muttering to himself to drown them out, but this time he knew they were right. If he didn't do something they were going to lock him up.

"I..uh…I just wanted to say I was sorry. About last night. Well about everything really." This caught his fathers attention. 

"I know I haven't been a great son these past few months. I…I've been smoking cannabis." 

_That's it, tell them what they want to hear. I'm sure daddy thinks an addict is still better than being mentally unstable._

"I'm sorry that I lied to you before about it, but I guess I was addicted, and then it made me act all weird and stuff. And then with coming to Bobby's I was just worried you were gonna leave me here, and that scared the shit out of me, the thought of being away from you and Sam. Ok, so I over-reacted but I needed to prove to you that I could still do the job." 

_Dad seems pleased you're opening up, Dean. A little bit of false honesty goes a long way._

"I apologised to Bobby. Again. We talked a little and I've kicked the stuff now." _Keep going, he's buying this shit_. "And I'm actually feeling a bit better today."

John wasn't sure whether to throttle Dean or hug him. The fact that Dean had blatantly lied to him about his smoking seriously pissed him off but Dean had finally admitted he had a problem and after months of monosyllabic conversations, this was a major breakthrough. 

"God, Dean. How many times have I given you the anti-drugs speech in the past year? Didn't you listen to a word I said?" 

Dean briefly lowered his eyes before apologising once more to his father. "I promise I'm going to make this right, dad."

He seemed truly regretful and John decided to let it pass for now.

"We'll talk about this more after I've had a couple of cups of coffee. But understand this Dean - If I ever, ever catch you near even a cigarette, I will come down on you so hard you won't know what hit you. Got that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where's your brother?" If Dean had been up for hours then Sam had probably not been far behind.

"He's out back, messing around with Bobby's dogs, cooing over some rotweiller puppy like a damn girl." 

"Why don't you go on out and make sure he doesn't domesticate it too much, cos I can't afford to buy Bobby another dog."

Dean smiled as he left, and John couldn't help but notice that it seemed too hollow and didn't light up his face like usual. Then again, he supposed, it was one step at a time, and he was just glad that things seemed to be looking up.

It took a good few days at Bobby's for the tension to settle despite Dean's new and improved attitude. They were mindful to keep watch of Dean without crowding him, though he either didn't notice or didn't care that three sets of eyes were constantly following his every move. He wasn't allowed in to town unless he was accompanied by Bobby or John, for fear that he would turn on some unsuspecting civilian like he had on Bobby. But in the few social interactions he had, mostly in diners, he was nothing but pleasant and sickeningly charming and flirty. 

They'd given Dean a bunch of leaflets on drugs and addiction, and _Just Say No, that Bobby had gotten from the local youth centre. Any idea of seeking professional help was quickly rejected by John, who just seemed relieved that he finally had a reason for Dean's recent behaviour. He was satisfied that Dean seemed to be making progress, and no amount of concerned glances from Bobby or Sam would change his mind. _

_Sam, for his part, did not believe a word of it. With the life they lead, they practically lived in each others pockets. While their Dad may have occasionally left them alone while he hunted, the only time he and Dean were apart was at school and he had never seen Dean hang out with the stoners or drug dealers in their school, and on top of that, he never smelled of smoke. _

_He'd had enough lectures in school to know that even something as supposedly enjoyable as cannabis was enough to make people depressed and paranoid but he knew deep down that there was no way it was the cause of Dean's problems. _

"_Jesus, Sam will you give it a rest. What can I say - addicts are secretive, that's how they get away with it for so long. You might think you know everything but I'm his father and I know when he's bullshitting me" was all his father had said when he questioned him about it, and he'd filed that reply away so that when everything hit the fan a few days later, he could say I told you so. _

_Bobby's hunt was a simple case that he could've handled himself however he knew that John needed a viable excuse to visit , even if the only person he was fooling was himself. Bobby had already done most of the research and planning, and had taken to calling himself the brains of the operation, with the Winchesters as his hired muscle. Sam usually preferred to be the brains rather than the brawn, but if it kept Dean happy and excitable, he'd accept it this once._

_An abandoned farmhouse a few miles from Bobby's place had had three suspicious deaths on the property in three months. One man had apparently set himself on fire after smoking a cigarette and another had died from carbon monoxide poisoning in his car, despite only being left alone for two minutes while his business partner checked out the house. The third death was the most disturbing. While walking around the out buildings, a potential buyer of the property was trapped in a barn which then burned to the ground, but not before the unfortunate man inside it had managed to make a terrified phone call to the emergency services, recording his screams as he died. _

_It was the phone call that had brought the case to Bobby's attention. There was a rumour of suspicious noises on the recording, with some people saying it was the poor victims soul beginning to detach from his body and making its own hopeless cries as it passed over to the other side. And sure enough when Bobby ran the tape himself he could hear it - not the desperate prayer of a damned man, but more likely his executioner repeatedly saying "leave now, it is mine"._

_Bobby, as always, had been thorough. He'd managed to track down the previous owner, June Williams, who had abandoned the property a few months after her husband had run off with another woman. Bobby had used his southern charm, the particular type he reserved for gentle older women, and June had eventually relented and admitted that her husband had not been unfaithful, but rather was a fire-happy wife-beating psychopath who June had murdered one day in self-defence, becoming so enraged with her husband after he burned her arm again with a red-hot poker that she pushed him down a flight of stairs breaking his neck. She buried him in the garden but after a few anxious and guilty months, she abandoned the place._

"_So you think this ghost is acting up now cos people are going to move in to his house?" Sam asked. _

"_The house is the safest place on that property," Bobby replied. "June had it blessed after he died. And no one's moving in. They're gonna rip everything up, and I mean everything - new piping, new sewers, new water supply. There won't be a single bit of this place that's original. That means his body's gonna be shredded too and by the sounds of this maniac, he don't want that." _

_John and Bobby headed around the back of the property while Sam and Dean were instructed to wait in the house until told otherwise. Dean had been itching for a hunt, but John had been wary, and this was the compromise they had come to - Dean basically being a glorified babysitter to Sam while John and Bobby were glory hogs. _

"_Man, this place is disgusting," Sam said as he tried to find a place to sit and wait that wasn't covered in three inches of dust and mould and god knows what else._

"_Well, Samantha, why don't you get cleaning then. There's plenty of supplies in these cupboards." Dean began rummaging through drawers, but there was little in them except for random odds and ends until he found one full of old photographs._

"_Whoa. If this is June in this photo, she is one hot chick."_

"_Gross, Dean. She's an old lady."_

"_She may be old now, but if she were sixty years younger, Sam." Dean made a smacking sound with his mouth, a sound that Sam instantly repressed and hoped he would never hear again._

"_You really don't -" He was interrupted when Dean came running at him and grabbing his wrist tight and dragging him towards the front door. "What the hell, Dean?"_

"_We gotta get out of this house now, Sam." Dean sounded panicked, but Sam pulled against him regardless and managed to shake his hands free._

"_Let go of me Dean and tell me what the hell is going on." _

"_Dammit we don't have time. I just know something bad is gonna happen alright, so just move it." Looking at Dean again, Sam noted how he didn't just look panicked, he was downright terrified, and seemed to be having another "episode"._

"_Bobby said the house is the safest place here, Dean. We're safe here." He used his most calming tone and hoped that Dean couldn't pick up on the anxiety underlying it._

"_I don't give a rats ass if the ghost can't get in here. We're leaving. Now." _

_He grabbed Sam again, who put up much less resistance this time thinking it was easier just to go with his brothers delusion, and dragged him out of the house. They had only made it a few feet from the front door when a huge blast rocked the house, and they both hit the ground hard under a shower of wood and brick._


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to everyone who has read/reviewed this story. Slightly darker content in this chapter (but not really).

I don't own supernatural or its characters. Unbeta'd

Sam hit the ground first, wind knocked out of his chest, and then a sudden pressure on his back that he realised was Dean who pinned him to the ground as he tried to move, and shielded him with his own body. Foolish but typical, thought Sam.

The debris from the house had stopped falling though the sound of it as it burned was still deafening. Sam felt Dean's death-hold on him relax and Dean climbed off him and rolled Sam over onto his back, and began patting him own checking for injuries.

"You okay, Sammy? Did you hurt anywhere?" Sam swatted Dean's hands away and checked himself over. Apart from a split lip, and a mouthful of dirt and grass he was otherwise unhurt.

"I'm fine, Dean. You look like shit though." Dean was covered in dust and ashes from head to toe, his light brown hair now grey, and a gash on the left side of his forehead had left a trail of blood running slowly down his face.

"What the hell was that Dean?"

"Well, Sammy, that was called an explosion. It usually happens when -"

"Stop it, Dean. You know what I'm talking about. You knew the house was gonna explode. Did you have like a…a vision or something?"

Dean snorted and pulled Sam to his feet just as their father and Bobby came running in to view.

"Sam! Dean!"

Sam had never seen such an anguished look on his fathers face before, but he imagined that it must be the same look he had when Mary had died. His father grabbed him into a tight embrace, squeezing so tight and so long that Sam thought they might fuse together.

"I thought I'd lost you boys." It was all their father said the rest of the night.

"It was Williams," Bobby said. "We went to light him up but just as we did it he set fire to the gas mains that run to the house. I'm sorry, boys, I never should have taken you along."

"It's hardly your fault, Bobby. And believe me, we've been in worse situations than this." Dean dusted himself off and allowed their father to silently wipe the blood and dirt off his face. He had relaxed a little now that he knew neither of his boys were badly injured but he appeared to be constantly on the verge of tears.

"How did you get out before the place blew?" Bobby asked, as he watched John, Sam and Dean climb into his truck. He was the unfortunate one who had to stay behind and clear things up with the police.

"I saw it from the window," Dean replied quickly. "Saw Williams lighting something up a little too close to the house, so we ran."

Bobby nodded, satisfied with the answer and obviously unaware of the suspicious looks Sam was throwing every direction but Bobby's. It was a difficult concept, considering their line of work, but things had definitely gotten weirder.

Sam wanted the powers-that-be to know that he had tried. He had begged, argued, used his best puppy-dog look and then his incessant teenage nagging to get him to open up, but Dean had somehow turned the tables and Sam ended up promising his brother he would never mention it to his father or Bobby. Whatever it was - a vision, instinct. God knows, since Dean refused to talk about it. But never let it be said that I didn't try.

The explosion though was quickly forgotten, only to be replaced by another worrying problem. Money was low. They had used what little they had saved up from cash-back on credit cards and Dean's pool money, and though Bobby had not and would not ask for a penny, John didn't like having to depend on anyone. If there was one thing he had promised Mary, it was that he would provide for his boys.

John had been looking for a regular job, at least for the summer to give the boys a bit of stability but things were scarce and Dean was keen to prove he was still the same guy, and so John had finally relented and taken him out to a bar to hustle some poor schmucks out of their money. They had travelled well out of town, to spare Bobby any trouble since he would be living there long after the Winchesters had left, settling on The Smoking Bull which was large enough that they wouldn't be remembered but small enough that it didn't need have its own security team. Bobby and Sam had stayed back at home, hoping that some father-son bonding time would be good for Dean.

John pulled out his phone, replying to another job ad, and nodded at Dean as he signalled he was headed to the bathroom after winning another fifty bucks. It had been too long since he'd seen his son so at ease and carefree, but he believed that things had turned a corner now.

Dean was washing up when He entered the bathroom. He'd seen the man watching him in the bar, could see the desire and wickedness in his eyes, and he knew he would follow him. Hell, he was counting on it. The man stood close to him at the sink, just a little too far into his personal space, and washed his hands. He accidentally brushed Dean's arm with his own, smiling and apologising, keeping eye contact in the mirror. Dean smiled back.

"I haven't seen you around here before," the man said. "You don't even look old enough to be in a bar."

"Promise you won't tell anyone?" You know which way to play this. "I'm only seventeen."

Dean smiled again as the man chewed on his lower lip.

"How'd a seventeen year old sneak into a bar?" They had turned around to face each other now, Dean leaning on the basin, head tilted, eyes playful.

"Fake ID."

"Yeah? A bunch of you's rebelling during the holidays? I didn't see any other kids here." That's cos your eyes were all on me.

"No, I'm here by myself." He let that linger a beat then dropped his eyes to the floor. "I, uh…I came here to make money. I hustle people out of money playing pool. My family are pretty down on their luck, you know, and there's no jobs going."

He could feel the mans eyes wandering his body again, and knew it was going well. The man stepped forward and touched the wound on Dean's face.

"How'd you get that nasty mark on your face?"

"My dad hit me," Dean replied. "But that's not the worst of it." He lifted his t-shirt up to his navel, revealing some bruising from the explosion. His jeans hung low on his hips, the top of his boxers showing. The mans eyes went wide with surprise and wanting, and Dean pulled his t-shirt back down.

"He gets angry sometimes," Dean said, licking his lips as the man inched closer. "And I don't like to fight him."

"Why don't you come out with me to my truck," the man said softly, his hand now on Dean's waist. "I've got some iodine that should heal those up nicely."

"Sure. I'd like that."

It took John longer than he'd care to admit to realise that Dean had not returned to the main bar. He hung up the phone mid-call, and quickly checked the bathrooms, the bar and a brief scan of the parking lot, with no sign of Dean but, thankfully, also no sign of Dean-induced mayhem and panic.

"Excuse me, Sir? Have you seen this boy?" He handed the bartender the most recent photo of Dean he had. It was a tattered photo taken about two years ago but thankfully Dean had hit puberty early and had physically changed little since.

"Yeah, I saw him. Played pool all night but didn't order anything."

"Did you see where he went?"

The bartender handed back the photo and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't recall. And who's asking?"

John struggled to keep his anger in check and counted to three before answering.

"He's my son. Please, there's something wrong with him. He's not right…mentally, and he can get into trouble easily. If you saw him leave, please just tell me what direction he went."

"Is he really your kid?" John nodded. "He left not long ago with a guy. One of the truckers, goes by the name of Derek. He's passed through here once or twice on his long-hauls. He usually stops to pick up a bit of…um… company."

He looked John in the eyes as he spoke, hoping he wouldn't have to elaborate further, but John looked back, confused and he supposed people were often more dense when it came to their loved ones. He rubbed his hand over his face, embarrassed. He wasn't usually the coy type but explaining something like this to a guy about his son wasn't exactly usual either.

"You know…he picks up guys, and pays them for their…services." He raised his eyebrows as it finally clicked for John.

"What? No, Dean's not - he wouldn't - he's not like that. Believe me."

"Well he left with Derek." He pointed across the street. "He keeps his truck in that lot over there so that we can't do anything about him. There's no law in picking up a date in a bar, and unless we caught money changing hands or indecent behaviour on our property we can't call the police."

"Thanks," John shouted over his shoulder as he ran towards the door, wondering what the hell had gotten into Dean now.

"Man, Derek is in for a world of hurt."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks again to anyone who has read or reviewed this story. This story is unbeta'd.

Things a darker in this chapter with brief mentions of abuse, though nothing graphic. Bad language also!

000

"This is my home most of the time," Derek said. "Eat, sleep and drive. That's all a truckers life is most of the time. It can get a little lonely."

The truck was huge, and the area just behind the drivers section had been converted to a small bed-sit. There was a small bed pushed up against one side, and the other had a one-ring stove, a few overhead cupboards and a small table, but apart from a small sink there didn't appear to be any kind of bathroom facilities, and Dean tried not to think about what would happen if Derek got caught short on a long drive.

Dean sat on the bed while Derek rummaged around in the cupboard for his first aid kit. He stole a glance at his watch, acutely aware that his Dad could notice him missing at any time, and he really needed things to move along before John figured out where he was.

_He doesn't give a rats ass where you are Dean or what you're doing._

"Got it," Derek said, pulling out a bottle of iodine from the kit. He frowned. "You know this stuff will probably sting. How about a beer to numb the pain?"

"I'm only seventeen. I'm not really allowed to drink." _Not that it stopped you before. Hell, daddy got you your first beer._

"I won't tell if you won't." Derek handed Dean a bottle he had opened for him. _Yeah, not at all suspicious_.

Dean brought the bottle to his lips. _Can't believe you're actually gonna do this._

"_Do you want to take your t-shirt off? To make it easier to get at the bruises."_

"_No, thanks." Dean rubbed at his eyes, lids heavy and voice slurring. "It should be….I think its….sorry, I'm…just…just so tired."_

_He fell slightly to his side, spilling his beer, and felt Derek's hands on him, supporting him as he lay him down on the bed. _

"_That's ok," Derek said, his voice soft but unsettling. "You can rest here. You've had a hard day."_

_Derek stared at Dean laid out on the bed. He hadn't expected the drugs to hit the kid so quick or so hard, but if the kid wasn't used to alcohol, that probably played a part too. His breathing had slowed and his eyelids flickered slightly, a deep unconsciousness overtaking him._

_The kid was perfect. Maybe a little broader and a lot less experienced than the ones he usually had, the ones he had to fucking pay just to get them back to his place, but damn, if this wasn't a bonus. He fished around for his camera and more film, and began snapping pictures of Dean to add to his collection. He was usually more prepared - camera already set, rope and tape nearby, and some plastic tarp for disposal - and he didn't usually pick anyone up impulsively, but there was something about this one that just got under his skin and he couldn't let go._

_He leaned in close, face to face, feeling the boys soft breath on his face. He wasn't into kissing, finding it to be just too intimate for his liking. He ran a hand down Dean's chest, then slipped it under his t-shirt, feeling his firm abdomen and the well-defined grooves between his muscles. Kid didn't look like the gym-freak type. _

_He sat up and started to remove Dean's belt, pausing for a second when the kid's breath hitched slightly, but he remained still, eyes closed and Derek continued opening the top button and zipper too. His hand ghosted along the top of Dean's boxers, but as he moved to slip his hand further south, he suddenly found himself pressed up against the stove, knife to his neck, staring into the eyes of a freakishly focused seventeen year old._

"_What the hell? Dean, man, put down the knife." If Derek had to guess he would say that Dean had been playing possum._

"_You goddamn son of a bitch. You're sick, you know that? I'm gonna make sure you pay for this. Make you pay for all of the others."_

_Derek paled. _

"_What are you talking about? You drank too much beer here Dean, remember? And your dad clocked you one in the face. It's just making you confused at the minute. How about you put the knife down and head on back to the bar, huh?" Dean pressed the knife harder._

"_I didn't drink your roofied-beer, Derek. Which one was I gonna be huh? Lucky number seven that managed to escape you?" He leaned in close. "I know what you've been doing. What you thought you got away with."_

_Derek's throat was dry. There was no fucking way this kid knew. He heard banging on the truck door, someone calling Deans name, then a man in his forties charged into the back of the truck with his gun drawn._

"_Dean!" He glanced briefly at Dean who had stepped away from Derek but still held his knife up in the air, warning, and then he turned to Derek. "I swear to god, if you have hurt him in any way I will gut you myself."_

"_Sir? Are you this boy's father? Please help me. He seems to have gone insane, spouting off rubbish, doesn't seem to know what the hell he's doing. I'm very worried about him." _

"_Dean, you ok?" John kept his gun trained on Derek, and slipped the knife from Deans hands without any resistance. "Did he hurt you?"_

"_No, Dad, I'm fine," Dean said as John raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Really I'm fine, I swear. Bastard didn't touch me. But I'm one of the lucky ones. He's a murderer Dad."_

_Derek shook his head, his chest was tight and he felt like the room was closing in on him._

"_Mister, I - "_

"_What are you talking about Dean?" The guy was a creep that was for sure, but John had more experience with dead murderers and thugs than living ones, and it was hard to picture the guy in front of him, who was pissing his pants with fear, as a killer._

"_Oh, didn't you know? Derek here picks guys up, drugs them, rapes them and then strangles them. That's how you get your kicks, right Derek." Deans voice was steady and calm, so detached that John felt chills along his spine._

"_Kid doesn't know what he's talking about, " Derek said. He was nervous and jittery, dancing from foot to foot. "Why don't you head on your way and I won't press charges?"_

_John stepped closer bringing the gun to Derek's face. "Why the hell was my kid in your truck then?"_

_It hadn't fully sunk in that if Dean was right about Derek, his son had been next in line._

"_I offered to give him some painkillers and bandages for his bruises and the cut on his head. That's all. I'm just a good Samaritan." Derek shrugged casually but his face remained tight and stressed._

"_Actually, he drugged my beer, which I'm pretty sure the police can test." Dean began rummaging in one of the overhead cupboards and Derek reached out to stop him until John grabbed him by the shoulder and pressed the gun to his temple._

_Dean pulled back one edge of the cupboard revealing a hidden segment and pulled out a small box. Derek whimpered at the sight of the box and his breath quickened, and he clasped his hands together, pleading._

"_Don't touch that. This is my private property."_

_Dean opened the lid of the box and handed it to his father who paled at the contents._

"_He's snap-happy. He took pictures of all the guys he killed…..before and after." _

_John flicked through the first few photos. Guys - kids really since none of them looked more than eighteen - their wrists bound tied to chairs and beds, naked, bruised and beaten. Their faces were untouched, though some of them appeared to be frozen in pain while others seemed at peace._

"_Fuck." John looked at Derek again. His eyes were now harder, his smile cruel, changed to the man who had committed these horrible crimes._

"_You sack of shit," He punched Derek in the face, knocking him out cold, then punched him a few more times for good measure. He and Dean dragged Derek over to the bed, then tied his arms and legs to the bed rails. He grabbed a couple of dustcloths from the cupboard and shoved one in Deans hand._

"_Wipe this place down, anywhere you might have touched to get your prints off. And lift the beer bottle." _

"_Why? We can't just walk away from this."_

"_We'll call the cops when we leave, Dean. Those photos are enough evidence. And how the hell did you know where they were?"_

"_He told me," Dean said, hoping his father didn't question it further. "But they're just photos - He could say he got them from some other pervert. I can tell the police about drugging my beer, and what he told me. Get him sent away for life or maybe the death penalty."_

"_No, Dean," He was angry now. "The photos are enough. Now get your ass in gear." The photos would likely get Derek jailed, but unless the police unearthed more evidence, they weren't enough to hold a murder charge. He didn't want to play down what could have happened to Dean, and it felt shitty even to him, but a court case like this was just too much hassle that they didn't need right now. Never mind that he didn't think Dean would be strong enough to hold under cross-examination in a courtroom._

_Derek still hadn't regained consciousness as they left his truck, but a quick feel of his pulse confirmed that he was still alive. John promised he would call the police once they made it back to Bobby's, though the more he drove and thought about it, the more he wanted to turn around an put a bullet through the guys skull._

_John cleared his throat. He didn't really want to, didn't want to have to think about it again, but he knew they had to have this conversation, and it was probably best done out of Sam's earshot._

"_So, how you doing now?" He glanced at Dean who shrugged his shoulders. He'd been silent since they left the truck, but he seemed relaxed as though he hadn't almost ended up as a serial killers prey._

"_Dean, I, uh," God could I be any worse at this, thought John. "You gotta know that anything that happened today…it wasn't your fault. He was a creep and he preyed on innocent people."_

"_I know." _

"_When I first went in to Derek's truck," he swallowed again. "your jeans were undone, and your belt was missing." Dean shifted in his seat but didn't speak,_

"_Did he…Did he hurt you? Did he touch you? It's nothing to be ashamed of, son, but we need to be clear on this."_

"_Jeez, dad, he didn't touch me, okay." Deans face flushed red. _

"_Sorry, I had to ask. But why were your jeans open?"_

"_Cos I needed proof." _

"_Proof?" _

"_I couldn't accuse the man of rape and murder just off the bat, dad. I waited til I had something to back it up with."_

"_Excuse me?" Johns voice was deafening in the small car. Dean sighed, the idea of telling the whole story was tiring._

"_I knew something was off about him when I met him in the bar - little things he said, jokes he was making about how he was a killer in the sack," Dean lied like a pro. "So he invited me back to his truck and I went."_

_John couldn't hide the shock on his face. He had assumed that Dean had been coerced into leaving with Derek._

"_I saw him drug my beer, so I pretended to drink it and faked passing out." His face reddened again as he spoke. "I let him open my jeans before I pulled my knife on him, but I swear dad nothing else happened. Then he confessed to me and you walked in."_

_John couldn't tell if he was angry or frightened at what Dean had done so casually._

"_Jesus christ, Dean, do you know how stupid that was? How close you came to -" He couldn't finish the sentence, as it made him conjure images of Dean, tied up, beaten and bloody like the boys in the photos. "Fuck. What were you thinking."_

" _I was thinking I wanted to catch this guy in the act." How could his dad not understand this. "It all worked out in the end. Relax before you give yourself a heart attack."_

_John fumed silently the rest of the journey home. He had ignored all the warning signs before, and he genuinely believed until today that things had turned a corner. But unfortunately it seemed that Sam and Bobby were right._


	7. Chapter 7

Many apologies for the long delay in this chapter. I've hardly had any time to write and when I do it's just so hard! I never realised just how hard it would be to do a multi-chap piece and I have so much more respect for a all the authors I've read now! I'm having serious writers block, but if there're still readers, I'll suffer on lol Not much happens in this chap, sorry!

0o0o0o0o

They ate their breakfast in near silence the next morning, with only Bobby's repeated offering of more food breaking the tense atmosphere. John and Dean had returned earlier than expected the night before, and Sam was wise not to question why when he had glimpsed his fathers furious face before John growled at them both to get to bed, before grabbing himself a bottle of Johnnie Walker and heading to his own room. His mood did not seem to have improved overnight.

"There's some more bacon in the pan there if you fancy another helping," Bobby said as he finally sat down. For a single man of his age, he was a pretty good cook, but didn't seem to have any measure on how much to cook for two teenage boys, with platefuls of eggs and bacon left over. "Shit, forgot the juice."

"I'll get it Bobby," Dean said, getting up from the table under John's watchful gaze. Sam in turn watched his father - watched the subtle change in his face as he quickly went from angry to disappointed and back to angry again, rising from the table and grabbing Deans arm causing him to spill the orange juice on the floor.

"What the hell is this?" He grabbed Dean by the wrist, and Sam could see the small silver canister in Deans hand.

"It's holy water, dad. That's all."

"And you were pouring it in the juice?" Dean didn't answer. "Give me the flask Dean."

"What? No, its mine." Dean gripped the flask tighter while John tried to pry it from his fingers.

"Dad - " Sam began, only to be interrupted by an irate John.

"Stay out of this Sam," John growled. " I think we've put up with Dean's shit for long enough. Give me the damn flask."

"Or what?" Dean replied. "You're gonna hit me again? There're witnesses - can't tell them I fell down the stairs this time."

Sam froze at the table and felt Bobby stiffen beside him. Their dad had been tough on them growing up, sure but outside of some rough training sessions, he'd never seen his father be violent towards Dean or himself.

"John?" Bobby spoke low and threatening. He'd always found John to be a difficult man - angry, belligerent, dragging his kids on a revenge mission they had no need to be part of. He'd never seen John lift a hand to his boys deliberately, and Bobby himself would make damned sure that if he did, it would be the last thing he did.

John let go of Deans arm, who quickly withdrew it and held it against himself in pain.

"Dean, I've never hit you," he said sadly.

Dean shook his head, his face screwed up seemingly confused at his own words, and rubbed his face with his free hand.

"Sorry, dad. I don't know why I said that. You've never hurt me." He turned back towards Sam and Bobby reassuring them that he was ok. "He's never hit me. Guess I'm just tired, huh."

John let out a shaky breath he didn't realise he was holding. "Why don't you go on upstairs and rest a bit more Dean? I'll call you when its lunch time."

Dean retreated upstairs, quickly followed by Sam who decided he had some urgent things to take care of in his room, leaving only Bobby and John and a room full of problems.

"So, you wanna tell me about last night?" Bobby asked. "Cos it seems things have taken a step backwards here."

"One step forward, two steps back," John snorted. He reluctantly recounted the events of the night before, watching Bobby's shocked expression that had surely mirrored his own.

"He was like a different person, Bobby. The photos," he paused, trying to shake the image from his mind. "The photos were bad and he didn't care, didn't flinch, didn't react. He was so disconnected from it all."

"Maybe it was the only way he could deal with had happened, you know, to drag himself away from it all."

"No, you didn't see him. He didn't care," John said shaking his head. "He could have been sexually assaulted and murdered and he didn't care. He doesn't even seem to realise that what he did was dangerous."

"Boys confused alright," Bobby said. He waited a beat before continuing, treading cautiously in his least accusing tone. "Why do you think he said that? You know - 'bout you hitting him?"

"If you're gonna ask me something like that Bobby, at least do me the decency of saying what you really mean."

"Fine," Bobby said. "Just to put a line under things - have you been knocking either of those boys around?"

"No. I. Have. Not. We train, we spar, it never gets out of hand and I've never deliberately hurt them." John shook his head. Weary or angry Bobby couldn't tell. "I don't know what he was talking about. When did things get to fucked up?"

"'Bout 12 years ago when you knocked on my door," Bobby laughed. "He needs help, John. Professional help."

"Yeah, I know," he sighed. "I know."

0o0o0o0o0o0

John sat nervously in the waiting room drinking his third cup of coffee in an hour. He folded the newspaper he'd been pretending to read and flicked through the rack of leaflets beside him. "Dealing with mental illness in the young", "Financial support for the mentally ill", "Suicide prevention helpline". _I hope it doesn't get that far_, he thought, _but then again who knows what going on in that kids mind_.

He was glad that the waiting room was empty but for him and Sam, a fortunate consequence of a tantrum from Dean where he initially refused to leave the house so that they missed their earlier appointment but then thankfully managed to get slotted in at the very end of the day.

Bobby had called it as they left the house. "You can take a horse to water but you can't make it drink," he'd said. And sure enough when they pulled up outside the Mountvale psychiatric unit, Dean had refused to get out of the car.

"Why are you doing this to me, Dad?" he'd said, his large eyes soft and sad.

"We're doing it _for_ you, Dean," John had replied, testily. "Now. Suck. It. Up and get your ass in there." Not exactly father of the year material, but then again he had done much worse shit than this and had no illusions about it. It had only been a few choice words from Sam and the promise that Sam wouldn't be far behind that had persuaded Dean to move, and so Sam ended up in the waiting room with his father while his brother underwent a psychiatric evaluation.

This whole situation was scary as hell. John didn't know anyone with a mental illness. Sure he knew hunters who had become more eccentric or more isolated as they got older, a few who had suffered from burnout from the job, but that was different, right? That was just life catching up with them.

But maybe this was Dean's version of burnout. His mother died at too young an age, a father that was absent for a large period of the time, dragged around from town to town with too much responsibility put on his shoulders - _that I put on his shoulders, John thought. He'd seen too much, done too much….Hell, it was a surprise that this hadn't happened before now._

_Sam sat beside him reading a book he'd brought with him, luckily for him since Dean had been in the doctors office for over an hour now. John was damned proud at how Sam had stepped up over the past few months, becoming Dean's guardian and protector. Even on hunts he had picked up pace, and unconsciously became second in command since it was difficult for Dean to keep enough focus to complete the task. _

_John hated to say it but Dean was vulnerable. And trying to keep one eye on a supernatural being and the other making sure your son hadn't spaced out could not be done. Maybe he'd already decided it unconsciously when he chose to come to Bobby's but unless the doctor had some very good news or Dean made a miraculous recovery, they were going to have to leave him behind._


End file.
